Category: The Tragedy of Livare

Yankal Krümmel’s revolutionary view on tales of the Blajini

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn Crimea Jacobius, The Tragedy of LivareLeave a comment

Feast of the Blajini

Among rural people in Romania and Bessarabia there is a widespread belief in the existence of the Blajini, they are beloved by both God and Krim because of their purity, innocence and moral neutrality.

Children and women throw the shells of easter eggs into the many tributaries to our Mures, while the men smile at their childish (and womanly) joy. How simple they are! Their belief is that all rivers and streams will flow into a single flood, the river of life, and along this the Blajini lives. The blessed creatures will then find the shells, and thus know it is time to celebrate the Easter feast.

blajini-dobre-dobre-si-si-si
What is that in the river? And has the rhubarb already grown tall, now, in spring? Surprising and pleasing, this leafy creation!

Blajini and the Eternal Man

It is said that the only man ever to pass back and forth between the realm of the Blajini and the realm of common men is Krim the Eternal. He is said to be the father of the Blajini and at home in their realm. The Blajini loves their father, and likes nothing more than to celebrate the Easter feast in Krimean fashion.

What ship may sail the river of life? Will Krim voyage on the ship of His eternal son, Livare the soulless sailor? Or will He swim and wade, back and forth, from our world to theirs, as time and ages pass by?

Livare and the soulless children

However, not all sources claim that the Blajini are of good and blessed nature. Old Yankal was a hefty critic of this view. In, among others, the Matrice Granit, Blajini are referred to as dead children who did not receive the benediction of the Holy Spirit. That they are the children of Livare, and like him soulless!

Old Yankal has been criticized for this view, but who are we to judge? We know so little of Krim, Livare and the children, compared to the knowledge and wisdom of Old Yankal.

The Silver Tower on the shores of Totensee

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn The Tragedy of LivareLeave a comment

Where the plains of the heathens meets waves of an inland see, lies a town. A town named for the son of Krim. Not Livare, the soulless, but His second son.

Majahi Hamare Majahi!

In the name of Yoham they built a tower of pure silver. There it stands tall on the shores, shining ever gray!

Hail that monk ancién!
He who danced with death!
Yoham!
You have grown old!

Ayem Ayem Ohm!

From the eastern wanderer Ville, wild and wailing, we have this song, which may well bring us to the silver tower and tragic monk:

Pray for Livare
Pray at Hamare
Pray at that Temple to Truth

Walk for Livare
Walk by the seashore
Walk through the fields

Sing for Livare
Sing for each fracture
Sing for that broken soul

You gave yourself to the fisherman 

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn The Tragedy of LivareLeave a comment

Oh, Flynn… Quality of our service…

Oh, you are mobile, young Flynn. Many-arm’d!

Oh, Livare, art thou octopus?

For Livare, he fell to see. Was he octopus? Unholy, ungodly, many-armed? Oh, oh, oh Livare Managing! Oh Papist Mongrel, so old, so young! Ancién! Yoham, have you no shame! Shalom!

And he sang, for Moskwa hath not tears:

Of field immortal,
Of ever-fertile ever-healer!
Oh, Livare, vast! Vast! Immense! Vast.

And he cried, mother of Flynn, thin-thick bosomed, for he had no soul. He was Livare, Livare he was. MAJAHI!

Cry for Livare, #pray4livare, our sorrow

The only mistake…
Krim ever made, yet Livare liveth.
Is he alive?

Waldemar von Broten in Life and Unlife

On By Targu Mures Historical SocietyIn The Tragedy of Livare, Wanderers and seekersLeave a comment

prayforlivare

In 1804, the European summer lasted for almost 200 days.

Waldemar von Broten sprang from his mother’s womb already a learned teacher. Yes, this was in wooden Bavaria; dense Bavaria; Bavaria dark. As a child he lectured the village-people in Krimean thought, so greatly inspired by divine secrets, and such a divine secret himself. Soon our Professor von Broten ranked among the great academic minds of the time: A welcome guest at any University or place of teaching, his perspective from pure, Krimean truth always a joy to his peers. This was the Life of Waldemar von Broten.

waldemarlife

“I know the Krim, for he saw me.  I saw the Krim, yes, he knows me!”

As the last days of 1849 passed with slow snows and crackling hearths, a darkness came over Waldemar von Broten. Wandering the familiar road of unspoiled wonder and discovery, von Broten found his way blocked by a wicked creature void of soul: it said its name was Doubt. Every word of Doubt pierced von Broten to his bones:

waldemarlivare

“You know me, von Broten, though we have not yet met. I am that legend unnamed, but feared. I am the Tragedy of Creation.”

Yes! It was Livare, the soulless, that had come upon von Broten from the holy teachings. (For no writing, no matter how wise, no matter how true, is free from inherent un-logik). Von Broten rejected now these teachings, spoke violently against the Krimean ways, and with every day his mind grew weaker. That once so potent beacon of Krimean light was dulled: a parody, a tragedy. This was the Unlife of Waldemar von Broten.

waldemarunlife

Oh, Stigaie! Ayem, ayem, ohm! Take me away now, take me into slumber. Translate me, rotate me and translate me again, for I am already gone …

Delegations bearing the Banner of the Bear came to Bavaria from the far forests of Romania. They were soulless men, too, as pale and bleak as the Carpathian sky of their homeland. When they at last returned to their unholy keep, von Broten traveled with them.

In the damp, southern spring of 1859, Waldemar von Broten passed on to the Black Sea and night eternal.